We know from her last post that Ginger looks like Emma Stone. Maybe that's why her parents don't want to let her out at night? —Sparkitors
Let me tell you a story. In high school, I was a really freaking good kid. I never went to any sketch parties, I never bought or sold or ingested illegal substances of any kind EVER AT ALL. I believe they call that “straight edge”? I kept my grades pretty good (*cough* for the most part), and in return, my parents gave me freedom. And by “freedom,” I mean they never questioned my motives when I wanted to stay up late at a friend's house, and I never actually had much of a curfew (I just had to pretend to be cheerful the next morning). Well, I did have a “curfew,” just not one that I really had to adhere to.
It was an efficient system—they had every reason to trust us, because chances are that me and my friends were just playing Disney Scene It. Or Apples to Apples. Or on a particularly raunchy night, watching a PG-13 movie.
The funny thing is that once I returned from college, I somehow lost that trust. I just don't understand it. Suddenly I have a curfew. Suddenly I'm expected to adhere to said curfew. This is slightly more difficult when, instead of watching PG-13 movies, we're watching—brace yourselves—R rated movies! (Just kidding. Within the past couple days, I've seen Mulan, Tarzan, and the Princess and the Frog.) I hang out with the same people I did in high school, and nothing has changed, except now we complain about tuition more. And we also sometimes even talk about collegiate things, like how Oxford Style Guide is removing the Oxford comma (which I find completely ridiculous and will use until the day I die, as demonstrated by my list of Disney movies).
My point: I have done absolutely nothing this summer that could possibly get me in trouble, or warrant my parents' distrust. Except for that time that I accidentally ran a red light. And yet. My dad tells me every other day to stay out of his liqueur cabinet. Actually, to be precise, he tells me to stay out of his “cherry Schnapps.” It's just a jar of cherries with vodka poured over it. It's been sitting in the basement for weeks. You could not PAY me to drink that.
Does anyone else have this problem? My friends don't seem to. Everyone is over 18, and their parents take the “please be safe and make good decisions” route. And, as previously stated, they don't abuse this trust. We prefer to bake Lembas bread and rewatch the Lord of the Rings series. The only theory I can come up with is that it's a last-ditch attempt to convince themselves that their daughter isn't almost an adult.
I almost feel bad for them when I look at it like this. But not as bad as I feel for myself—the oldest kid, and therefore test subject. But looking at it like this is the best way to keep my temper around them when they tell me that the later I stay out, the earlier they're waking me up. It always helps to take everything as a compliment.
Ginger's Song of the Week: Laura Marling terrifies me. Not because her striking resemblance to the girl who played Draco Malfoy in A Very Potter Musical (if you check out some more recent pictures). Not because she writes, in my humble opinion, some of the best lyrics of any current artist. But because she is two years older than me. TERRIFYING, I say.
Any advice for Ginger?
Related Posts: Life According to Ginger